Cordelia: Chiaroscuro
by Jeanny
Summary: Cordelia visits an gallery where the art tells a story...but for her it might not have a happy ending. *Complete - All 3 chapters posted*
1. Part 1

Title: Cordelia: Chiaroscuro

Author: Jeanny

E-mail: jeannygrrl@hotmail.com

Rating: PG-13

Distribution/Archive: Go right ahead, if you like, just let me know where it's going.

Spoilers: Angel Season 3 Through Heartthrob

Disclaimer: I don't own them, would that I did. The characters herein belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, Greenwalt, Fox, etc. I'm merely using them to tell my own little story.

Feedback: Please! I need it.

Summary: Cordelia visits an gallery where some of the art tells a story...but for her it might not have a happy ending. Based on the Challenge in a Can (http://www.dymphna.net/challenge) challenge: Cordelia. Lost. Painting.

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chiar·oscu·ro. _noun_. 1. pictorial representation in terms of light and shade without regard to color. 2. the arrangement or treatment of light and dark parts in a work of art. 3. the quality of being veiled or partly in shadow. 

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It was no secret that Cordelia Chase had been born to the finer things in life. Her early childhood had been filled with nannies in place of parents, and cultural events in the place of play dates. The young girl was lonely and perceived herself to be unpopular, largely the cause of her lashing out at those around her. The cultural emersion that had been thrust upon her had lasted until the day after her twelfth birthday, when she finally put her foot down as only she could, demanding that her parents acknowledge her existence in some way more immediate than opera tickets. The adolescent rebellion she had staged had been more about lack of attention than her cultural education, but it had cemented her identity as a useless airhead in her father's eyes. The visits to the theatre, art galleries, museums, operas and concerts ceased without warning or discussion. Cordelia pretended not to care, but secretly she missed all of those things, especially the galleries and museums. 

Despite her bitter complaints, Cordelia had loved looking at the art, especially portraits. The emotional connections she found in swirls of paint had been poor compensation for the lack of feeling with which she was surrounded, but it was something. Without it life had been gray and colorless, and she had immersed herself in a quest for popularity. It was what had been expected, and also something she hoped would fill that void. Instead she had become as vapid and shallow as her father had always believed her to be, and only late at night did she mourn the loss of the thoughtful child who had wept over operas and dreamed of swirls of paint on canvas, creating stories about the people in those pictures and how their lives were full of love and hate and every strong emotion between.

It was only after her parents' fortune had been lost - indeed, after she had moved to Los Angeles - that she had discovered galleries again. Secretly she spent many an afternoon walking through museums, galleries, any place she could find to lose herself in the stories she fashioned about these strangers that felt closer to her than her own family. Sometimes closer than her own friends. She wasn't totally sure why she kept her art excursions secret. She knew the others might understand...especially Angel, who was an amazing artist in his own right, at least when he was Angelus. They would understand, they would accept...but they would also know her in a way she simply wasn't ready to be known, not by anyone. It felt like a kind of ownership, and Cordelia Chase refused to be owned again. Not even by those who already held her heart.

So it was on such a typically sunny Southern California afternoon that she stumbled across a small undistinguished gallery that lacked even a proper name, the small handcrafted sign reading only "Art Gallery. H. Anenye, Proprietor." Cordelia lingered outside, for a moment uncertain as to whether she should go inside this place. It seemed a bit...off, for a gallery. But she opened the door anyway, entering a cool white room that had a number of large portraits hanging on the wall. None of them appeared to be individual portraits, but all were some kind of family or group gathering. Cordelia smiled. A rather attractive man, appearing to Cordelia to be in his mid to late 40's, approached her with a welcoming smile.

"Can I help you, Miss..." the man addressed her in a clipped British accent.

"Chase. Cordelia Chase," Cordy replied absently, her eyes already drinking in the remarkably lifelike works. She felt as if these people might jump right off the canvas and begin speaking to her directly. She turned and focused on her host for the first time. "These are extraordinary!"

"Yes, I agree," he smugly concurred.

"Do I know the artist?" Cordelia asked.

"You've probably seen his work before," the man replied cryptically, "but by name, most likely not. Almost all of his works are done under aliases and pseudonyms. I secured this collection due to a...personal connection with the artist."

"Strange he wouldn't want to be known, with talent like this," Cordelia said.

"Indeed," the man agreed. "But fortunately for me, oddly profitable. Most of these works have been sold already, but the owners are not ready to take possession and I must admit I've grown rather fond of them. So I continue to show them to discriminating patrons, such as yourself."

"Hmmm," Cordelia said, still engrossed in one of the paintings, then her ingrained manners kicked in. "I'm sorry, I'm being very rude, Mister..."

"Anenye," he said, pronouncing it like `Ai-nuh-NIGH.' "But, please, Miss Chase, call me Hart. And I certainly do not find you rude, my dear."

"Hart," she repeated with a smile. "Do you mind terribly if I look around for a while?"

"Not at all," he said with a thin smile. "That is why I'm here, after all. Let me know if there's anything you need. A cup of tea, glass of wine, perhaps?" Cordelia politely demurred and the man wandered off, leaving her to wander freely. The gallery had seemed very small from the outside, but it seemed like there was more of it at every turn. She walked slowly, drinking in the small details: rings on hands, wrinkles around eyes, even the realistic five o'clock shadow on a man that appeared to be a vagrant. She had no sense at all of how much time had passed when she came across the painting that made her gasp out loud.

It was a simple family portrait: a man standing, his wife seated in front of them, their young daughter kneeling at her feet. The clothing appeared to be late 19th century, possibly early 20th century. Obviously their Sunday best, but Cordelia could tell immediately they were not wealthy, no better than middle class. Happiness, affection and love seemed to radiate from them even in the stilted pose; the woman had been captured looking down almost wonderingly at her daughter, who smiled at the artist enigmatically. But that wasn't what had made Cordy's heart beat faster. The man and woman looked so much like her parents...and the little girl had long dark hair just like her own at that age. Other than that the girl didn't really resemble her at all; her eyes were a beautiful china blue, her features much more angular than Cordelia's, but still...

"Quite nice, isn't it?" 

The voice from behind made her give a little scream. She turned and saw Hart Anenye smiling at her. Her hand went up to her throat as she struggled to calm her suddenly fast beating heart.

"You startled me."

"I do apologize."

"Who were they?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. The man looked at the painting appraisingly for a moment, then shrugged.

"I have no idea. Why?"

"They seem..." Cordelia whispered hoarsely, reaching out unconsciously to touch the little girl's hair, then jerking her hand back guiltily. "Familiar," she finished awkwardly. The man made an elaborate show of looking around to see if they were alone, then moved up to her conspiratorially.

"Go on. Touch it."

"What? No," Cordelia said, licking her lips. Her mouth was suddenly dry as she stared at the painting again. The girl almost seemed impatient with her, as if wondering what was taking her so long.

"It's okay. I know you want to. I'll never tell. It'll be our secret."

Cordelia found her hand moving almost of its own volition towards the painting again. She had no idea where this urge to touch it came from, but it overwhelmed her. She touched the painting and gasped, her body jerking as if she had touched a live current...

"...sit still for just one second," her mother said, laughing at her squirming. "I do declare, you got your father's vigor, child." Her father came in and kissed her mother fondly, reaching down to pat her head affectionately.

"Ah, but she got her mother's beauty, so much the better," he boomed, reaching down to brush her mother's lips with another, deeper kiss. He eyed Cordelia with mock sternness as she giggled. "You mind your momma now, Dee."

"Yes, daddy," she said primly, sitting still long enough to allow her mother to finish brushing her hair. As soon as the brush was set aside she jumped up. "Now may I go play?" she asked plaintively. Both parents smiled indulgently.

"Run on, now," her mother said. Cordelia gave her a quick hug and kiss, then her father swept her up in his arms, twirling her around for a moment and making her giggle. She hugged him to her fiercely.

"I love you, Daddy," she said, and she knew that she did, with such intensity it almost blazed out of her. She looked into his dark eyes and miraculously saw the same ferocious love echoed there.

"I love you too, my darling girl. Go on now, have fun," he said, setting her back down. Cordelia giggled and ran toward the front door. "But stay on the grounds, in sight," her father called after her. "I never want you out of my sight."

Cordelia stepped outside and looked up, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. She skipped down the front steps of their little house, careful not to step where the boards had worn a bit thin, and began to spin around and around, feeling giddy and warm and loved and carefree, all at once. When she came to a dizzy stop she laughed out loud from pure joy...then screamed as the warm day suddenly turned to the darkness of night and she felt a hand latch onto her arm. A familiar voice whispered in her ear.

"You're lost, Cordy," the voice said, and Cordelia gasped.

"Angel?" 

"Miss Chase?" Cordelia whirled around, and suddenly she was back in the gallery. Hart was frowning at her in concern. "Are you alright?" Cordelia's hand flew to her head automatically, but she realized that she didn't have the mind-splitting headache she normally did after a vision. In fact, she felt fine except for being a bit tired, and...suddenly she couldn't remember what she had just been thinking. She had been fascinated by the painting, that was all.

"I'm fine," she said. "You just startled me."

"I seem to keep doing that," he said with a small rueful grin. "I'm very sorry, but the gallery is closing for the day." Cordelia's eyes flew open wide.

"Oh my God! What time is it?" she said, panicking. She wasn't supposed to be gone more than an hour...

"Oh, it's still early. It's just that I've other business to attend to, so if you wouldn't mind..."

"Oh. Oh! Of course..." Cordelia stammered, letting him steer her towards the exit. They made it to the door so quickly she felt disoriented. Apparently the gallery wasn't as big as she'd thought. As he opened the door to usher her out, she felt a sudden sense of loss that made her turn back. Mr. Anenye smiled, seeming to understand the cause of her distress.

"The gallery will be open tomorrow, of course," he offered, and Cordelia almost sagged with relief. She could no longer quite remember what had happened to her there, but she knew she needed to see that painting again. She smiled at the man.

"Thank you, Mr. Anenye," she said, stumbling over the name. He smiled and patted her arm.

"Hart," he reminded her, and the still dazed girl blushed.

"Hart. Right. Tomorrow."

Cordelia wandered out into the sunlight, quickly regaining the confidence in her stride. The man who called himself Hart Anenye watched her go, then quickly put the closed sign on the gallery and made his way back to that special painting. His smile broadened as he gazed at it for a moment, then pulled out his cell phone and punched a number on speed dial.

"Yes, it's me. Everything's going as planned. The final portrait is being filled. Yes indeed, I believe this will be my finest piece yet...I'm not sure I should let it go for such a paltry..." As he listened to the calm but angry voice on the other end, he paled slightly. "I see your point. That does sound unpleasant... Delivery? As soon as it's finished. You know, an artist such as myself shouldn't be rushed. But soon," he said as he smiled at the child in the picture.

A beautiful child. So fetching with her big brown eyes. 

"Yes, I'd say very soon."

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Feedback makes me feel less lost...


	2. Part 2

Disclaimer: I don't own them, would that I did. The characters herein belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, Greenwalt, Fox, etc. I'm merely using them to tell my own little story.

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"Penny."

The light hand on her arm jerked Cordelia back to awareness of the present. She blinked hard a few times, feeling a bit disoriented, and looked into Fred's wide concerned eyes.

"I'm sorry...what?" she said, stifling a yawn. Lately it seemed like she couldn't get enough sleep. She was almost as bad as Angel had been when Wolfram and Hart were invading his dreams. Cordelia was glad she didn't have to worry about anything like that. She looked at Fred questioningly, and the Texan started.

"Oh! I said penny...you know, like for your thoughts? You looked like you were having some. Some mighty deep ones, I expect...or maybe that's not right anymore, has it changed? Should I have said nickel for your thoughts, or dime or quarter or half-dollar-?"

"No," Cordelia broke in quickly, "The penny won't buy much, but it's still the going rate for thoughts." Seeing Fred's expectant look, she added, "Only in this case, a waste of money, cause I really wasn't having any."

"Oh," Fred said, sounding a bit disappointment. "It's just...you've been awful quiet lately. And you seem...kinda..." Fred trailed off as Cordelia walked away from her, hugging herself absently. The former Pylean slave sighed. "Spacey," she finished for herself, shaking her head. Cordelia showed no sign of being aware that Fred was even still in the room.

Sighing again, Fred slipped into the other room, where three men were anxiously waiting.

"Well?" Angel demanded as soon as she entered.

"Nothing," Fred admitted sadly. "She was all staring and sighing, you know, like she's been, and when I got her to talk to me for a couple seconds, she said she wasn't thinking about anything. And then she just wandered off again, while I was still talking to her. And I called her spacey and she didn't even say boo."

"Damn," Gunn grunted. "Something is seriously up with our girl."

"I quite agree," Wesley said. "Cordelia has not been acting herself for days."

"Do you think it's the visions?" Angel asked guiltily.

"I asked her about that, actually," Wesley said. "She claims she hasn't had any. And she doesn't seem to be in any discomfort. She just seems kind of..."

"Gone." No one argued with Angel's one-word description. They all sat and thought for a long moment before he continued, "You said she's been going out every day this week?" 

"Yes, at lunchtime," Wesley nodded. "But that's not unusual. Cordelia frequently takes her lunchtime to run errands and such."

"Still...do we know where she's been going this week?" Angel pressed. 

"Followed her yesterday," Gunn admitted. The others turned to him in surprise, and he added defensively, "I was gonna say something."

"Where'd she go?" Fred asked curiously. Gunn frowned, remembering.

"She made a beeline for some little hole in the wall place. Sign said it was an art gallery. She was in there for a couple of hours." Gunn shook his head, remembering. "She looked right at me when she left, but she kept on walking. Like she didn't know me. Maybe she didn't see me, but I sure thought she did."

"I don't like it," Angel huffed, starting to pace. "What do we know about this art gallery?" Wesley shrugged thoughtfully. 

"If Gunn has the address we can check it out, Angel." Gunn nodded and wrote the address down on a piece of paper, handing it to Angel. "In the meantime, I suggest we try to keep Cordelia-"

"I'm going to lunch!" The door slammed before any of them could move.

"-here," Wesley finished lamely. Angel looked at Gunn sternly.

"Follow her," he ordered, and tried to stifle a burst of annoyance when the younger man looked to Wesley for approval. Upon receiving a nod of agreement from the former Watcher, Gunn took off. Wesley noticed Fred's puzzled frown and lightly touched her shoulder.

"What are you thinking, Fred?"

"It's just that...every day Cordelia's been disappearing, it's been for longer and longer, right? And then when she comes back she's loopier than she was before. I'm sorry, I know I'm one to talk..." she trailed off, twin crimson spots of embarrassment decorating her cheeks.

"It's okay, Fred. You're right," Angel said.

"I believe so," Wesley concurred. Fred pointed at the wall clock worriedly.

"She just said she's goin' to lunch, and it's only ten o'clock." Fred hugged herself nervously. "That can't be good, right?"

"We may not have time to research," Angel said softly. "I think Fred's right. Something's happening to Cordy and it's getting worse." He handed the address Gunn had given him to Wesley. "Find me a sewer entrance close to that building."

"Straight away," Wesley breathed. "Fred, could you help Angel gather some supplies?"

"Sure," Fred bubbled, happy to do anything that kept her near the dark vampire that had saved her. "What kind of-oh!" she gasped as Angel began removing some fairly nasty looking swords from the weapons cabinet. "Slaughtering supplies," she said. Angel looked at her, and she could see the worry in his eyes. Wordlessly she opened a bag and he set the swords inside with a grateful nod.

**********

Cordelia no longer even acknowledged Hart Anenye when she entered the gallery. Her feet seemed to move of their own accord to the family portrait, to the girl that now was a spitting image of her as a child. Her fingers trembled eagerly as she reached out to touch the girl, though she had no conscious memory of the visions for which she was so eager...

"...you have to guess, Daddy," Cordelia said, hands on hips as he mock scowled at her, his eyes twinkling merrily.

"Guess, huh?" he said, appearing to consider that thoughtfully, his hand stroking his growing beard. "Can I ask you questions?"

"Of course, silly. That's the game!" she said, laughing. "They had better only be yes or no though, or else you lose."

"I think I understand," he said slowly. "Well then...is it an animal?"

"No," Cordelia giggled.

"Is it a vegetable?"

"No," she said, dragging out the syllable.

"Is it a mineral?" he asked. She paused, frowning, considering the question.

"I guess...yes."

"You guess? I thought I was the one guessing here."

"I'm not sure, Daddy. But if I ask you then you'll know what it is."

"Oh. Maybe you should ask your momma then. I'm sure she won't tell a soul."

"Okay. Wait here," Cordelia said, turning to run from the room. When she got to the doorway she turned, suddenly panicked. "You're not going to go away, right, Daddy?"

"Of course not," her father frowned. "I swear, Dee, you're always scared I'm gonna run off on you and your momma or something. I don't understand it at all. I've always been here for you, and I always will. I love you and your momma to pieces, my darling girl."

"I know, Daddy," Cordelia whispered, still unable to shake her terrified feeling. She believed her father, but she just knew he was going to be taken away from her. Shaking her head at her own silliness, she skipped into her mother's sitting room.

"Momma?" she asked, and her mother set down her needlework and held open her arms. When Cordelia felt them fold around her she burst into tears.

"My goodness, child, what is it?" she asked. 

"I don't know," Cordelia admitted, unable to express what she was feeling. "I just missed you, momma."

"For heaven's sake, Dee. You just saw me an hour ago. Has your daddy been teasing you again?"

"No. We've been playing Twenty Questions. Daddy pretends not to know how to play, but he's the one who taught me," Cordelia said, wrinkling her nose, her mood once again light. The tears were forgotten as if they'd never happened.

"Your father is silly that way," her mother agreed, smiling. "So did you guess what your daddy was holding?"

"No, he's doing the guessing, Momma. That's why I'm here. Is the moon a mineral?" 

"You holding the moon, Dee?" Her mother laughed softly, the sound of clinking crystal.

Cordelia opened her palm, and it was suddenly night. She looked down at the moonlight shining from her hand, and closed her fist. The darkness that surrounded her was now total.

"Momma?" she asked, suddenly afraid. Total silence was her only answer, and then she heard the voice behind her.

"Cor-DEEE-lia!" he called, drawing out her name sarcastically. "I can HEAR ya!"

"Go away," she whimpered, crouching down, trying to make herself smaller than she already was. "Go away, Angel. I don't like you anymore." Her shaky declaration seemed not to bother the vampire in the slightest. She opened her palm again and dim light flooded the room, illuminating the yellow eyes and dripping fangs of the vampire. In her child's body the vampire seemed to tower ten feet over her. Cordelia screamed and tried to run, but she was rooted to the spot.

"You can't stay here," he insisted. "If you try you'll be lost forever. All alone. In the dark."

"No!" Cordelia insisted. "You leave me alone, Angel! Why won't you let me be happy? Why do you keep making it dark? Do you hate me or something? You hate me so much you take my parents away?"

"Please," Angel snorted. "They aren't your real parents, Cordy. None of this is real. It's an illusion. Deep down you know that, but you've let yourself get lost. It's almost too late. I've been trying to warn you, but you just won't listen. And now I have to play rough." He reached for her and she found herself suddenly able to scurry back. She felt her back hit the wall hard, and she screamed as he lunged for her.

"No! I won't go! I want to stay!" she shrieked.

"We want you to stay too, Dee," her father said, bewildered. Cordelia saw she was clutching her blanket. She looked up and saw the cheery lit oil lamp illuminating her bedroom, gazed into her parents' loving, concerned faces and burst into tears. Their arms were around her immediately, shooing the nightmare - for that must have been what it was - away, filling her with a warm sense of peace. "We want you to stay with us always, baby. We never want you to leave us." 

"I never will," Cordelia vowed, clutching them harder.

"Everything's okay now," her mother soothed. "Hush, Dee. We love you. As long as you stay here, you're safe. You're safe."

*******

"She's in danger," Wesley said to Gunn as he and Fred hopped out of the car. "This place is being rented by a man named Hart Anenye. Mr. Anenye, it will come as no surprise, doesn't exists. And I don't suppose you can guess ."

"Wolfram and Hart," Fred supplied the answer softly, though Gunn already had guessed.

"Angel's bad ass lawyer friends going after his link to the Powers?" he speculated.

"It seems likely. At the very least. they have some interest here."

"But this Mr. Anenye isn't on their payroll," Fred offered softly. "We checked."

"Well, doesn't really matter if it's the lawyer boys or some other nonexistent guy, does it?" Gunn said, resigned. "Somebody's got it in for us. Correction, somebody's got it in for Angel. You know, I get the feeling that stuff like this is just gonna keep happening to us as long as we hang out with him. Cause, you know, he's just not a people person."

"What do you think's happening to Cordelia?" Fred asked in a small scared voice. Wesley looked grim as he opened the sack of weapons, distributing crossbows and axes.

"I suggest we go find out."

"What about Angel?"

"Meeting us inside," Wesley said. "I warned him to wait for us so that we may proceed with caution. We have no idea what sort of threat we might be facing."

"Uh-huh. Angel. Wait. Caution. Right," Gunn said, and Wesley blanched.

"We must hurry," he said unnecessarily as they all ran to the shop door. The door was locked. Gunn looked to Wesley questioningly.

"Slow quiet stealthy break-in or fast noisy everyone-knows-we're-comin bust-the-door-down break-in?" From inside they heard some thumping sounds and a scream they all knew well. Cordelia Chase had a classic B-movie actress scream that would have done Fay Wray proud.

"Break it down." Gunn was already chopping the door before the order was out of Wesley's mouth.

**********

Angel had emerged in the alley behind the shop a few minutes earlier, and had been relieved to find there was enough shade for him to dash to the side of the building without becoming extra crispy. He also had the fortune of finding a broken window latch. He vaulted silently through the open window, landing in a studio of some sort. He briefly took note of the paint and art supplies lying about with a professional eye. Whatever art was here appeared to be of fairly recent vintage. And the brushes and paints positively reeked of dark magic. 

Angel poked his head cautiously out of the room and proceeded as quickly and quietly as he could. His instincts were screaming trap, but it was Cordelia who was trapped inside now. Whatever was happening to her was taking place in this gallery, and he was going to get her out of here. As he crept silently through the darkened gallery he was unable to shake the strong feeling of being watched. He realized after a time that it was the portraits that were giving him that sensation; the eyes seemed to be watching him with an intense desperation that was distracting even to someone as focused as Angel. It took everything in him not to stop and stare, but he could smell Cordelia nearby, and that made him hurry on.

When he finally spotted her, he raised his sword and stopped short. Cordelia was standing rigidly, her body jerking with occasional spasms. Her eyes were open but unseeing, her mouth falling open, a bit of drool dripping down her chin. One hand was pressed hard against the figure of a young girl in one of the portraits, and Angel's eyes widened in horror when he realized that the young girl in the painting was glowing slightly, that her features were changing, making her look more like Cordelia. In fact, she looked almost exactly like Cordelia, except her eyes...her eyes had that same desperate expression he had seen in the other portraits. Angel rushed forward and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"I really wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice from behind him said mildly. He whipped his head around and growled. He had seen this man before, some time ago, when he had tried to hurt another woman Angel cared about. He had only laid eyes on him for a second, but for the vampire it was enough.

"Ethan Rayne," he growled. The man smiled and raised his eyebrows.

"I'm very impressed, Angelus. We never were formally introduced, were we? And yet you remember my name. It's quite flattering, really."

"What are you doing to her?"

"I've done nothing, really. That's the beauty of this particular game, you see. She's done all the work herself, coming here of her own accord, touching the painting...although I must admit I did use a little magic to entice her that first time...but still, she's the one who decided to give herself to her fantasy, all of her own free will. Her essence is now part of the painting, and I don't mind telling you, it's worth a fortune to-Don't!" Ethan cautioned as Angel again went to pull her away from the painting. Angel hesitated for only a split second before wrenching her away. The second she lost physical contact, Cordelia screamed and began thrashing about so violently that Angel was unable to hold her. Ethan used Angel's distraction to try to make his escape. Angel was forced to let Cordelia fall as he leapt across the room and tackled the fleeing man. He knocked Ethan into a wall, knocking several paintings to the floor in the process. Angel threw Ethan to the floor, straddling him, squeezing his head to the side to force him to look at the screaming, twitching girl whose breath was now coming in sharp gasps.

"Cordelia! What's happening?" Angel cried.

"I told you not to do that," Ethan panted. "Once the process is in the final stages, it can't be stopped just like that. Congratulations, Angel. You've just killed your friend."

*******

TBC - Feedback is a wonderful thing.


	3. Part 3

Disclaimer: I don't own them, would that I did. The characters herein belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, Greenwalt, Fox, etc. I'm merely using them to tell my own little story.

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"Oh my God," Wesley panted as he, Gunn and Fred rounded the corridor in time to hear Ethan's last words. He immediately knelt with Fred at Cordelia's side as Gunn moved to take Ethan from Angel. As soon as the younger man had a hold of Ethan, Angel moved to Cordelia's side. She had stopped screaming, but her body was still shuddering violently.

"What do we do, Wes? Rayne says she's trapped in the painting," Angel said urgently.

"I'm not familiar with this sort of magic. Some kind of transference spell?" Wesley asked, looking at Ethan sharply. The erstwhile magician looked away casually, and Gunn jerked his head back around, his hand on Ethan's throat menacingly.

"The man asked you a question."

"You can't save her. She has to save herself, and, trust me, she hasn't the will to do it."

"You don't know Cordy," Fred said sincerely. She hadn't let go of her friend's hand, desperate to find some way to help. If not for Cordelia, Fred would still be lost in Pylea. There was no way Fred was leaving her lost in some nightmare work of art.

"She had to touch the painting to lose her essence. Does she need to be touching the painting to get her essence back?" Angel growled. Ethan rolled his eyes.

"You're not listening. It's too late. She's going to die, and there's nothing you can do-" Ethan was watching Angel warily, therefore was caught off guard when Wesley pointed a cross-bow at his stomach, his eyes hard and cold. When he spoke, his tone was mild but clipped, and no one had any doubt he meant every word literally.

"You had better pray that that's not true, because I assure you, the moment Cordelia Chase dies is the moment you do as well. Now tell us how we can save her."

"If one of you connects her essence to her body, and convinces her to return, fully...but you haven't much time."

"How do I do it?" Angel asked.

"Angel, do you think you should be the one-" Angel silenced Wesley with a look.

"How?" he asked Ethan again.

"Grab her hand in your right, touch the painting with your left. Then you're going to have to convince her to come with you. The longer it takes, the more likely you'll trap yourself in there with her as well." Ethan's eyes glittered for a moment. "If it wasn't for your friend's eagerness to kill me, I'd tell you to take your time. As it is, I'll just wish you Godspeed."

Angel lifted Cordelia, whose twitches were growing weaker, and held her close to his side, his right hand grasping hers. Then he spread his palm completely across the painting...

And found himself in a sunny sitting room. His instinctive reaction was to get out of the sun, but he was relieved to find it had no effect on him. He heard running footsteps and a young girl burst into the room, her father at her heels, He caught her, tickled her for a moment before swinging her into the air. Her joyful laughter bounced off the walls, and Angel started. He'd know that laugh anywhere.

"Cordy?" he called. Her head whipped around and she screamed. Angel was taken aback at the abject fear in her eyes.

"Who are you, sir, and what have you done to my daughter?" the man asked hotly.

"Make him go away, Daddy. He's not supposed to be here. Make him go away!" The man advanced on Angel, who ducked under his clumsy punches, trying not to hurt him.

"Cordy," Angel repeated. "Cordy, we've got to get out of here. You can't stay-"

"No!" the girl wailed. "Don't you do it, Angel! Don't you make my daddy go away again!"

"Cordy, you've been trapped here, and you're dying. Gunn and Wesley and Fred, we're all here, but there's nothing we can do...if you don't leave this fantasy you're going to die, and I..." Angel took a shuddering breath. "I don't want to lose you."

"Daddy, stop!" Cordelia said, and her father immediately complied. "Angel, is it really you?"

"Yes, Cordy, I'm here in the painting with you. I came to rescue you, just like in Pylea...well, not exactly like Pylea...actually, it's not really anything like-"

"Angel. Stop. I don't need rescuing. I'm finally where I belong. My parents are here, and they love me and take care of me, and I have everything I ever wanted. If I'm dying, it's really okay because I'm kind of already in heaven, you know?"

"No," Angel said. "No, it's not okay. This is all wrong, and you know it, I know you do. I know that because I never met anyone with a greater sense of right and wrong, who faced challenges with more courage. What do your senses really tell you now?"

"I'm happy here, Angel. Really happy...please..." Cordy begged, looking at her father again. He was looking at her lovingly.

"Was it so bad, out there? With me?"

Cordelia thought hard. The visions, the violence, the constant struggle...and then that feeling of making a difference, the casual but loving camaraderie between the group of them...she blinked at Angel.

"It absolutely stank...but it wasn't so bad," she said.

"I know it's hard. I know it hurts, a lot sometimes, and this feels better...but Cordy, we need you. We love you. And we're real. This is just a trick." Cordelia's head dropped. She knew deep down that Angel was right; after all, the Angel her mind had created had been trying to tell her all along.

"Daddy?" Cordelia said, tears coursing down her face. It took everything in her not to fall back into his arms, to simply tell Angel to go away.

"I love you, Dee. My darling girl," her father said softly. "You're safe here, for always. You don't have to leave."

"Oh, God," Cordy moaned. "Yes, I do...I love you Daddy, but I do..."

Angel reached out his hand, and Cordelia grabbed hold. There was a flash and she took a deep shuddering breath, finding herself in the gallery, in Angel's arms. Angel immediately yanked his hand off the painting as if it had burned him, looking at it with a sense of revulsion. Cordy kept her eyes averted from it, her whole body quaking in grief.

"Angel, are you both alright?" Wes asked softly. The vampire looked down at the girl in his arms, and handed her to Wesley and Fred, who gently took hold. Sobbing, Cordelia buried her head in Wesley's shoulder and he stroked her hair, seeming unsure of what to do. Fred smiled gentle encouragement at him as she wrapped her arms around them both. Angel watched them, grimly nodding.

"Take care of her," he said. "I've got something to take care of." His voice was so full of anger that Wesley swallowed his questions. Gunn, on the other hand, chose the opportunity to choke his captive a bit harder.

"Would I be holding that something, by any chance? And can I help with the care taking?" Gunn asked coolly. Angel's eyes were gleaming yellow as he turned towards them. 

"Look here, old man, I'm certain there's some way we can work this out-" Ethan began, sweating profusely.

"How many?" Angel asked, and Ethan tried to look innocent, failing miserably.

"Pardon?" he hedged.

"How many people like Cordelia? How many have you trapped here?" Angel demanded. Wesley and Fred attempted to quasi-carry Cordelia away from the scene, but she somehow stood her ground, eyes closed, her cheeks wet with still more tears.

"It's not like I've exactly been counting...ow!" he cried when Gunn squeezed tighter. "Look! I'm just a businessman. I have clients, they have needs..."

"You're selling souls," Angel growled.

"Not souls. Essences. If the person isn't interfered with they're perfectly fine, they just have a little...less personality than before. Okay, no personality, but-"

"Who are your clients?" Angel interrupted, and Ethan appeared relieved to be able to shift the focus from his own role.

"I don't know, exactly. Honestly, I don't!" Ethan gave a panicked yelp as Gunn's arm tightened, temporary cutting of the air to his windpipe. There was genuine fear in his voice when he hastily continued, "The deals are brokered through a law firm...Wolfram and Hart."

"They ordered you to hurt Cordelia?"

"They ordered essences. Names were never mentioned. My spell was only designed to lure the lost...which apparently your Miss Chase faaaargh!" When Gunn again loosened his grip slightly, Ethan finished, "They're picking up all the paintings tonight." He looked as if he wished he hadn't told them that part when he saw the smile on Angel's face. Angel looked at Gunn and Wesley. 

"Get everyone out of here," he said. Gunn looked at Ethan questioningly, and Angel nodded with a look of disgust. "The trash, too. Go back to the office and wait for me. And take care of Cordy."

Gunn half-dragged Ethan from the gallery, followed close behind by a dazed and crying Cordelia being supported heavily by Wesley and Gunn. She had yet to speak a word, and Wesley and Fred exchanged worried glances. 

"What do you think he's doing in there?" Fred asked curiously. Wesley had his suspicions, but wisely kept them to himself. Ethan coughed weakly.

"Is the death grip absolutely necessary?"

"Nope. But it's fun," Gunn said with a humorless smile. "You see, you mess with Cordy, you mess with all of us. And we're not the live and let live types."

"I'm getting that," Ethan wheezed.

"Let him go," Cordelia said hoarsely, and they all looked at her in surprise. She was standing on her own now, her face still red and blotchy from her tears, somehow seeming smaller than she was before. But the glare she threw Gunn's way was vintage Cordelia.

"But Angel-" Gunn protested.

"Just let go of him," she said wearily, and there was something in her voice that made Gunn obey immediately. Ethan immediately regained his suave demeanor as he approached Cordelia, who simultaneously moved towards the devious magician.

"Glad to see someone around here is gracious in victory. You are truly a charitable AHHHH!" Ethan screamed as Cordelia's foot kicked up and into his groin. Wesley and Gunn couldn't help but wince, while Fred grinned broadly. Cordelia reached down and yanked the moaning man's head by his hair, forcing him to look into her eyes. Hatred underlain by a profound sadness was what he saw in their depths.

"That was for Dee," she whispered, releasing his head and rubbing her hand against her pants leg as if she had touched something particularly vile. She seemed to be contemplating another kick for good measure, and Ethan whimpered, cradling himself pathetically. Finally she looked at Gunn pleadingly. "Get him away from me."

Gunn grabbed the man by the wrists and dragged him into a nearby alley, not stopping until he was out of their sight. He stoically ignored Ethan's pitiful cries. Wesley knew his friend intended to punctuate Cordelia's revenge with some of his own, and he knew that he should put a stop to it. Somehow, looking into Cordelia's hollow eyes, he just couldn't motivate himself to move to do that with any alacrity. Fred's hand on his arm distracted him from that moral dilemma.

"Do you smell something? Smoke?" the Texan asked, her nose wrinkling.

"What?" Cordy's head whipped towards Fred then back towards the building as Wesley's cell phone rang. He answered it quickly.

"Angel?...No, no we haven't left...yes...yes, I see...of course...right away." He hung up the phone quickly and turned to the two women. "Get in the car. We've got to move. Now. Gunn!" he hollered. 

"Angel set the building on fire," Fred surmised, not without a little excitement. Cordelia nodded thoughtfully.

"Now!" Wesley repeated, and Fred and Cordy hurried to comply. Grumbling a bit, Wes stomped down the alley, stopping when he saw Gunn groggily sitting up. Ethan was nowhere to be seen. "Oh dear, what happened?"

"Dunno...where's...?"

"Never mind, we must get out of here." He helped Gunn to the car where the younger man took a seat next to Fred in the back. He looked at his lap guiltily when Wes said tersely. "Rayne's gone."

"I'm sorry," Gunn said. "I don't know what happened...Cordy..."

"It doesn't matter," Cordelia said. "It's over." And they rode the rest of the way back to the hotel in silence.

*********

Later that night, Cordelia heard a tapping so light it almost wasn't a knock and sighed, putting her book aside.

"Go ahead, Dennis," she said softly, then said in a louder voice, "Come in, Angel." 

The vampire opened the door slowly, clearly surprised. Cordy stood and turned towards him, her drawn, unsmiling expression breaking his heart. She hadn't looked this pained even after the worst of her visions.

"How did you-" Cordy gestured around the room.

"Wes brought some books, Fred brought some tacos, Lorne brought a disco mix-tape, which he threatened to take away if I tried singing any of the songs at Caritas..." Cordy gave an almost smile as she continued, "And Gunn hasn't left. You were the only one who hadn't come by. " She gestured at the sofa where the young man lay, lightly snoring. Dennis was lightly laying a blanket on top of him.

"Oh. You shouldn't leave the door unlocked," he said absently. Cordy looked mildly annoyed as she pointed at the drifting blanket and he hung his head. "Oh, right. Dennis..." he trailed off awkwardly. "Cordy..." he began, but stopped when she held up her hand wearily.

"Angel, can we not? Please. Not right now..."

"That's fine," Angel said quickly, almost relieved. "We don't have to talk about what happened if you don't want to. I just wanted you to know something." She waited expectantly, her eyes widening in disbelief as he pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her hair. "I...we...you know we..." Cordelia smiled, the first genuine one she had that day. Angel's typical inarticulateness was so familiar to her, so loveable...

So much like family. So much like home.

"I know," she whispered comfortingly even as she was comforted by the feel of this leather coat against her cheek. Something deep inside her let go and finally flew free. She suspected that she might not be visiting too many more art galleries. At least not alone. "I know," she repeated. "Me too."

*******

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